


getting back on the horse

by nowrunalong



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Coffee Shops, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fortune Telling, Late Night Conversations, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27426595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowrunalong/pseuds/nowrunalong
Summary: It’s almost closing time when Stevie bursts through the doors of Café Tropical with her head down and melts into the booth nearest to the back, sliding as close to the wall as she can get without becoming one with it, alone and nearly completely invisible.
Relationships: Stevie Budd/Twyla Sands
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25
Collections: Femslash Exchange 2020





	getting back on the horse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notwisely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notwisely/gifts).



It’s almost closing time when Stevie walks into Café Tropical and sits by herself in the booth nearest the back of the room.

Except, no. That’s not quite how it goes.

It’s almost closing time when Stevie bursts through the doors of Café Tropical with her head down and melts into the booth nearest to the back, sliding as close to the wall as she can get without becoming one with it, alone and nearly completely invisible.

Twyla is polishing glasses behind the counter, and takes a moment to set her cloth down. She should call out ‘I’ll be right with you,’ or something similarly reassuring of customer service, but it’s been an age since Stevie has come into the café on her own, and it’s kind of late, which is fine because Twyla doesn’t mind keeping her doors open for a friend in need, only she’s all too aware, suddenly, of the fact that she and Stevie are the only ones in the room.

That’s why it takes Twyla a moment longer than it should have to cross the room to Stevie’s booth.

“Hey, Stevie,” she says. “Are you okay? Can I get you something?”

“Um. Coffee?” Stevie’s voice is quiet and hesitant and a little muffled. Her arms are crossed in front of her on the table, and she’s speaking more to them than to Twyla. She glances upward, meeting Twyla’s eyes for a second before bowing her head again.

Her eyes are red from crying.

“Okay,” Twyla says. She directs a reassuring smile in Stevie’s direction, even though Stevie won’t see it. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

Stevie nods into her arms, her dark hair fanned out across the table on either side of her.

The coffee carafe had been rinsed out already, so Twyla puts on a fresh pot. She looks around the kitchen for something else that Stevie might like, on the house, and decides on heating up a bowl of tomato soup. Soup is warm and comforting, and Stevie looks like she could use some warmth and comfort.

Ivan had brought a small bouquet of daisies with his pastry delivery this morning. Twyla thought they brightened up the bar, so she’d kept them in a water glass where everyone might enjoy them. She plucks one from the glass now and sets it on the tray with Stevie’s coffee and tomato soup.

“One coffee,” she tells Stevie, when she arrives with the tray. “And I brought you some soup. And—I thought you should have this.” A soup spoon and the white daisy join the coffee cup and the soup bowl on the table. “Do you want some company?”

“That’s okay,” Stevie says. When Twyla takes a step back, Stevie looks up and wipes her face with her sleeve. “I mean, it’s, um. It’s okay if you stay. That… would be great, actually.”

Twyla sits down opposite her. She isn’t sure what’s wrong, but she’s got a feeling—like a premonition—that it has something to do with the guy Stevie’s been seeing. She waits for Stevie to say something. Twyla doesn’t mind waiting. She looks around the café as they sit in silence, enjoying the feeling of simply being here, in this place that always feels like home.

“I tried to do the relationship thing,” Stevie says finally. “For real. Like, with feelings and everything. I thought it was going to work out this time. Guess not.” She gives a tiny shrug and pulls the soup bowl closer and wraps her hands around it, warming them. “Maybe I had it coming.”

“No you didn't,” Twyla says. “Sometimes it doesn’t work out.”

“So when _will_ it work out?” Stevie asks. She shakes her head, eyes squinted as she tries not to cry again. “I keep waiting and waiting for things to—to fall into place for me. I keep waiting for… I don’t know. For something _more_.”

“Do you want to pick a card?” Twyla asks.

It’s been a very long time since she’s read a card for Stevie. The last time had been after they’d gotten kicked out of the second-nearest casino for being unaccompanied minors. As they’d camped out in Twyla’s room afterward, listening to the radio and cursing the authorities, Stevie had wondered then if her luck would change. Twyla had stolen her mom’s boyfriend’s tarot deck and drawn The World: a long-term goal coming to fruition. The card was a little torn and wine-stained and, years later, Twyla still blames the deck’s negative energy for turning up a prediction that had yet to come true for Stevie.

She has her own cards now, and she gets along much better with them. She thinks they’ll know Stevie better than Vaughn’s did, too.

“My cards are behind the bar. Hang on, I’ll grab them.”

Twyla does, and when she returns, she passes the deck to Stevie.

Stevie shuffles the deck automatically, muscle memory lending a hand. After a few seconds, she stops and hands the deck back to Twyla. “Um. Maybe you should do the rest. I mean, my karma’s gotta be at an all time low.” Pretending to look unconcerned about this, she grabs the spoon and dips it into the bowl of soup.

Twyla knows for an absolute fact that Stevie doesn’t have bad karma, but she gives the deck an extra shuffle anyway.

She fans out the cards in her hands. “Here. You should choose.”

Stevie hesitates for a second. “Okay.” She reaches toward the middle of the deck. One card is sticking out a little farther than the others—an obvious choice. Her fingers skim the top of it and then slide to the left; she plucks out a card next to Twyla’s thumb, and sits it face-up on the table.

“The Knight of Cups,” Twyla says.

“Is that good? Hey, this soup is, um. Kind of perfect right now. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Twyla says, with a smile. “This is a good card. It’s—well, this knight is kind of a romantic.”

“Great,” Stevie says. Her voice is tinged with sarcasm, but that’s always glanced right off Twyla.

“No, it really is. It means… something more.”

Stevie half-laughs. “Can you make them all mean that?”

“Some of them are so bad you can’t really pretend that they have a hopeful side to them. Sometimes I get a whole streak of bad ones, and I end up telling people that they’re going to get into boating accidents, or that they’re going to get trampled by a horse.”

“Wow.” Stevie examines the Knight in the card. He’s sitting on a horse and holding an old-timey chalice in one hand. “So—no horse trampling in my future?”

“Nope! He’s moving forward kind of slow and steady, see?” Twyla taps the cards with one finger. “Even if he falls off his horse, he’ll be able to get back on. He’s actually being guided by his emotions towards something really great. The landscape may look a little empty, but he transforms it as he passes through, just by being an amazing and passionate person.” Twyla smiles kindly. “It’s a good card.”

Stevie picks up the daisy and spins it between her fingers, frowning deeply. She looks at Twyla.

“Why are you so nice to me?”

“Stevie,” Twyla says, her eyes narrowing with concern. “It’s okay.”

“I did this to you, after graduation. You were so… I was the one who ended things. I just wanted to get out of here. And all you ever wanted was to stay.”

They were so close, back then. Friends who fell into something new and different and comforting, and then fell apart completely.

“This is home,” Twyla says simply.

“I just wanted to get away from everything to do with this place, and then I never even made it out. And you were… You were always so _nice_ to me.” Stevie’s doing her frown again—the one where she’s thinking really hard about something. The one Twyla’s always kind of liked. “I’m not a nice person.”

“I think you’re a nice person. And a really cool person,” Twyla tells her.

“Pshh,” Stevie says, deflecting. And then: “It just sucks. Fuck. I hate feeling this way.”

“I know,” Twyla reassures her. “It isn’t fun. But don’t worry about me, Stevie. Seriously. I mean, that was in high school. And I do miss hanging out with you, but most of all, I just want you to find whatever makes you happy. The way that being here makes me happy.”

“Thanks, Twyla.”

Twyla smiles. “Anytime.”

Slowly, Stevie uncurls herself from her hunched position, sitting up straighter and pushing a few strands of hair out of the corner of her eye.

“You didn't drink your coffee,” Twyla notices.

“No,” Stevie agrees. She gives Twyla the tiniest smile. It only just lifts the corners of her mouth, but it makes Twyla feel warm inside, the way that eating a bowl of hot soup makes you feel warm inside. “I guess the coffee wasn’t really what I came here for.”


End file.
